Nanjing Requiem by Ha Jin Page B

dismissively to the soldier behind him, and the man let Luhai go.
    As the platoon of soldiers was moving away, a voice called out, “Save me, please!”
    We rushed over and recognized Hu, the janitor of the Library Building, his arms clutched by two soldiers, one of them carrying Hu’s new serge parka in the crook of his elbow. Minnie grasped Hu’s belt from behind and forced the two soldiers to stop in their tracks. “He works for us,” she shouted at the stocky officer. “Coolie, coolie, you understand?” Her brown eyes were smoldering with rage. “You cannot arrest people without any charge.”
    The officer looked at the Red Cross badge on her chest as though unable to make head or tail of it. Then he waved at the two soldiers, who released Hu.
    “Save me too, Principal Vautrin!” another voice cried. That was from a boy named Fanshu, who was also being dragged away. He was struggling to break loose while still holding a basketball under his arm.
    We ran toward Fanshu, but a soldier spun around and held out his rifle, its bayonet pointed at Minnie. She had no choice but to stand there watching them pull the boy away, together with three other Chinese men we didn’t know, though one of them looked strong, like a soldier. Fanshu worked for an old American couple who had just left town. He was supposed to stay and watch over their property, but he had snuck here to play basketball. He was merely fourteen, though tall and big for his age, so the Japanese caught him as a potential soldier.
    “Thank you for rescuing me, Principal,” Hu said, bowing to Minnie and showing his splotched scalp. “I spent a whole year’s savings on that parka they robbed me of.”
    “Damn them!” Minnie stamped the ground, puffs of dust jumping up around her feet. “Ban, Ban, where are you?”
    “Here, I’m here.” Ban, a skinny boy of fifteen, who was our messenger, came over.
    “Go tell Mr. Rabe that the Japanese took people from our college.”
    “I don’t speak foreign words, Principal.”
    “Mr. Han, his secretary, knows English. Let him translate for you. Ask them to come and help us stop the soldiers.”
    Ban broke into a trot, sticking out his elbows as he ran, his police boots too big for him. He was short for his age, about five foot one. I wondered if it was wise to send him on the errand, but I didn’t share my misgivings. Even if Rabe was notified, what could he do? Such random arrests must have been happening everywhere in the city.
    Around two p.m. Rulian arrived; she was nicknamed Lady Fowler thanks to her love of Emily Brontë and because she kept our domestic fowls. She panted, “Some Japs are on the hill.” She pointed at a hillside to the west, beyond our Poultry Experiment Center, which was in her charge.
    “Do you think they’ll break into the fowl house?” Minnie asked her.
    “Sure they will.”
    “Let’s go have a look,” I said.
    Minnie had to remain at the front gate, so Luhai, Holly, and I hastened west with Rulian. I looked askance at the young woman; she was wearing a countrywoman’s dark blue jacket, her smooth face smeared with soot. She was thirty-one and comely, but had deliberately made herself look dirty and diseased. She even walked slightly bandy-legged to reduce her height. Yet there was no way she could conceal her prettiness altogether. I wanted to tease her by saying she couldn’t possibly rusticate herself so rapidly, but I refrained.
    Chickens, ducks, and geese were squawking like mad in the poultry center. We entered the enclosure and saw two soldiers there, one gripping a goose by the neck, the bird treading the air in silence, and the other man chasing a long-tailed rooster. He tripped and almost fell in an attempt to catch the cock, which landed on top of a shelf, shaking its red and black feathers while peering at him with one eye. The man cursed the rooster and spat on the ground.
    “Hey, hey,” Holly shouted, “they’re not for food!”
    The soldiers stopped and